Heritage
by foolondahill17
Summary: In St. Mungo's, shortly after the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, Tonks has a heart-to-heart with her mother, who knows a bit about forbidden love. Tonks might be twenty-three but to Andromeda she'll always be her little girl.


Title: Heritage

Summary: In St. Mungo's, shortly after the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, Tonks has a heart-to-heart with her mother, who knows a bit about forbidden love. Tonks might be twenty-three but to Andromeda she'll always be her little girl.

Author's Note: I find the Black sisters intriguing. For a more detailed account of their relationship, see my story _Spectrum_, starring Bella, Meda, and Cissy to each their crumbling ruin – and to which _Heritage_ is a companion piece.

* * *

Andromeda Tonks walked up the flight of stairs looking for Fourth Floor: Spell Damage. She did not run this time, nor was her husband frantically running by her side, but her heart still beat quite a bit faster than normal. It was never a pleasant experience, going to see your daughter in the Hospital.

She'd been informed that morning that Dora was quite out of danger now, and quite wide awake, and quite chipper – almost back to normal. Andromeda had breathed a sigh of relief. It had been unnerving, rushing through the Hospital corridors to find her daughter, ghostly pale and unconscious at the end of the hallway. She had felt a shiver of fear – almost a tremble of foreboding….

But after all, when Dora said she wanted to be an Auror, Andromeda had had to prepare herself for such scenes. Although it hadn't made it any easier, pretending to be prepared.

Andromeda reached the proper floor and pushed open the ward's door. Dora had been moved, they'd said, was no longer in need of around the clock surveillance, was doing better, might be home by Friday. Andromeda found the room she was looking for and let herself in.

She walked passed the other occupied beds, ignoring them fully because the bed at the end of the room was the one she was looking for. It was blatantly obvious this bed was Dora's, because of the flowers – mountains of them, bouquet after bouquet of the brightest, most optimistic flowers. It was almost dizzying.

Hiding amongst the flowers was Dora, propped up against her pillows, still looking a bit peaky, and sporting brown, lank hair – which was worrisome.

"Hello, dear," said Andromeda, slipping on the widest smile she could muster.

"Hello, mum," said Dora as though she was trying to sound cheerful.

"How are you?" said Andromeda, stooping to kiss Dora on the cheek and knocking a geranium pot with her elbow.

"Fine," said Dora and smiled, blinking her rather watery looking eyes.

Andromeda drew up a chair with her wand and sat at her daughter's bedside.

"Where's Dad?" said Dora. She played with her blankets, twisting them in her fingers. She looked lost – unsure – which was worrisome.

"He couldn't come, dear," said Andromeda, "Work. I expect he'll pop in later."

"Oh," said Dora, and stifled a sigh.

"You're looking better," said Andromeda.

"Am I?" said Dora, "The Healers say so too. I should be home by – by Friday." Her voice seemed to catch as though on a nail. She scraped passed it and continued, "Kingsley said I could be back next month if I'm good and do as they say."

"Next month?" said Andromeda, feeling dazed and trying to keep it out of her voice.

"I'm sorry, Mum," said Dora. "I know you don't like it. But I – I want to go back. It'll be good, going back, keeping busy."

"I don't," began Andromeda, "It isn't that I don't like it – I – I want you to do what you think is best. I just – I _worry_, dear, about you. It's a dangerous job. You know that, of course. This proves it –"

"I didn't get this being an Auror, Mum," said Dora, "It was – it was something else…."

Andromeda had suspected it, couldn't say it didn't come as a surprise, but she _had_ suspected it. It was hard, hiding something that big when you lived in a house with only two other people – especially if those people were your parents. "And Dumbledore?" she asked, "Are you going back –"

"Yes," said Dora before Andromeda could even finish, "You know that, Mum. With You-Know-Who out in the open now I couldn't do anything but. There's still a fight to be had."

Andromeda felt her heart wrench in the usual excruciating way. She sometimes wished her daughter wouldn't be so brave. She wished her daughter hadn't grown up so fast.

"I know, dear," she said gently, brushing her fingers against Dora's cheek. It was a gesture that usually had Dora shirking away in exasperation, but today she didn't even flinch – which was worrisome. "I'm so proud of you."

"It's okay," Dora whispered, her eyes were suddenly swimming with tears. "It's okay not to pretend. I know – I know you hate it, Mum. I know you worry all the time. I know I'm hurting you. I – I'm sorry. I wish I didn't have to. But – but I do – I _have_ to –" She struggled for a moment longer to try and find the right words.

Andromeda stared at her daughter and felt emotion well in her throat. Her lovely, courageous, wonderful little girl…. She took Dora's hand, which was fumbling with the blankets again and pressed it in her own.

"Even though I'm worried I'm still proud, dear," whispered Andromeda. Dora looked up momentarily and gave a weak smile.

They sat there for a moment in lingering, persistent silence until suddenly Dora said, her voice brittle, "They sent someone over – the Aurors. A – some traumatic councilor or other. They – they talked to me. It's normal to be injured in the field. It – it happens all the time. They said it's normal – normal to feel this way. It's normal for – people die – people die all the time…." Dora drifted away into silence, her lower lip trembling.

Andromeda was taken aback. She hadn't heard much about the incident. The Ministry was keeping it all hushed up. She'd been too preoccupied worrying about Dora.

"Someone died?"

Dora looked up and nodded very quickly. Her eyes were sparkling with unshed tears, her face red from bottled up emotion, looking just as she had when she was nine-years-old and about to cry and didn't want anyone to see.

"Who died, dear?" whispered Andromeda, feeling Dora's hand trembling within her own. Again she felt the curious shiver of foreboding, a dire warning not to proceed –

"He," said Dora, and gulped, "_He_ died!" The words exploded from her throat at though a dam had been hacked apart. The tears slithered down her cheeks. She gasped for a moment in speechless distress.

Andromeda felt her heart falter and then race. He – _he_. Dora's man. The one – the one she'd been thinking of, dreaming of, all these months, all these heart-wrenching months. "Dora," said Andromeda, shocked that she could speak, "Dora, who?"

"H-he," stammered Dora, "S-Sirius –"

Andromeda dropped Dora's hand. She fell back in her chair and wondered for a moment if she'd misheard. Sirius…. Sirius – her darling, brave little cousin who'd – who'd made so many mistakes.

Sirius, for whom Dora wept.

Sirius, dead….

"I'm sorry," sobbed Dora, her face crumbling like it had as a child, "So sorry. I know – know how you loved him. I know how you hated that he – he was – but he _wasn't_ – he was innocent. There was so much that he _wasn't_ but he – he's dead – and – Bellatrix killed him –" Dora buried her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook with trembling tears and pain.

Andromeda couldn't bring herself to lay so much as a hand on her daughter's back.

She sat in her chair and felt deflated, utterly worn. She could hardly breathe. Sirius her cousin dead and Bellatrix her sister his killer.

She – she should have expected it, she told herself almost angrily. Nothing good could ever come out of her family. Lust and hate and insanity were due to be the end of them all.

_Sirius_…. _Oh, Bella_…. _Beautiful Bella what have you done?_

"I'm so sorry," cried Dora again, "I know – he was your favorite. I know you thought he betrayed you – but he – he _didn't_. He was innocent all the time and I – couldn't _tell_ you. Dumbledore made me swear not to tell." Her voice tripped and tumbled off her tongue, "We –had to protect him – but – I wanted to, Mum. I know how much you would have like to – to see him. But – but now you can't. It's too late – because – because he's _dead_ –" she hid her face back in her blankets.

Andromeda could feel her daughter's pain radiating off of her like heat. She wanted to reach out her hand to caress her, comfort her. She wanted to whisper that it was alright. It was not Dora's fault – but Andromeda couldn't move. She sat stock still and speechless in her chair, unable to breathe.

Sirius…gone. Andromeda – through all his thirteen years of being in prison – she had never thought of him as _gone_. Bella…Bella had been gone from Andromeda since Andromeda had turned seventeen and Bella had married Rodulphus.

It was funny that Bella, still living, breathing, causing pain was so _gone_ yet Sirius…dead, traitor – no, _not_ traitor – could it be true? Oh, let it be true….

"I did know," said Andromeda's lips, hardly recognizing she spoke. "I almost did know, Dora. I never could shake the thought that Sirius – he might have been – there must have been a mistake. I – I told myself I was being silly but now – now everything seems so clear…. I can't see how I ever believed anything other –"

But he was dead, now. Too late. It was too late….

"I should have told you," said Dora, her voice muffled because her hands were still covering her face. "I should have brought you to him. You would have been able to see him – He – he would have liked it…."

"Dora you couldn't have known," said Andromeda because she didn't really know what to say, "You couldn't have known he'd die –"

Andromeda could have _seen_ him, held him one last time….

"There's a war on, Mum," Dora suddenly looked up from her palms. Her eyes were burning with something akin to anger, still glistening with tears. "I _should_ have known. I _should_ have brought you to see him. So much is uncertain – I _should_ have brought you before it was too late…."

"You can't think like that, Dora," said Andromeda sharply, automatically – _Sirius, oh Sirius_, dead, gone, too late – "You can't destroy yourself over this –"

"I won't," cried Dora with unexpected passion. "I'm preparing! I have to know so I don't make the same mistake next time! Some people, no matter how old they or how many wars they fight – they never learn! They never learn to look around and take what they've got right in front of them before it's too late! _I _could have died three days ago! It could have been _me_ instead of Sirius and then what? I'd have died before he could ever have come to his senses – and he – he hasn't even sent me flowers –"

Dora stopped. Her anger evaporated as her eyes again filled with tears, "Everyone has sent me flowers," she whispered. "Mad-Eye even sent me flowers, although he didn't say they were from him. But – but he hasn't even sent me a bloody get-well card –" she choked and sniveled, "He – he just doesn't learn, Mum. I – I don't _care_ if he's poor. I don't _care_ if he's older than I am! I – I don't care…."

Andromeda felt dazed. She tried to wrap her mind around this unexpected turn of events, while half of her was still screaming for Sirius – but the other half, more powerful half of her, the half of her who had said _I do_ to Ted, was screaming for her daughter.

And Dora was _right there_. And Sirius was _gone_.

Dora was speaking again, "I – I don't care what he _is_, Mum. I – because he _isn't_. That doesn't define him. He – he's the kindest – the most caring man I've ever met but he – he's so stupid to think _that_ would matter…."

"Darling, what would matter?" said Andromeda because she hadn't a clue what else to do. _Sirius, Sirius, Sirius_ – with a yank that was physical agony she forced her shaking, crumbling thoughts to _Dora, Dora, Dora_.

Her daughter needed her.

Then Dora looked at her, a look of pain so exquisitely agonizing twisting her face that Andromeda felt her heart rip – she felt her heart tear for her daughter, who truly was – could only be in love.

Not the school girl crushes Dora used to deny, but love, agonizing, torturous love. Andromeda felt her heart simmer in wrath for the man who'd done this to her little girl.

"I –" began Dora, "I can't," as if she was going to say _I can't tell you_, "Mum, what am I supposed to do?" It was a plea, a desperate, off-handed remark to which Andromeda could tell Dora expected no answer. "Oh, Mum, how am I – how can I _live_…. He – how do I get him to realize…?"

Andromeda didn't say anything. Her lips parted but she stopped herself because she'd long ago realized that haste was no means in which to deal with these matters.

"But you –" Dora continued, tears trickling down her cheeks, "You can't know. I wish – I wish I could tell you, Mum. But this is secret too and you – probably wouldn't understand. But he – _isn't_, Mum. He _isn't_."

Andromeda tried to understand, tried to comprehend beneath the aching in her mind and body. Sirius isn't – no, they weren't talking about Sirius – but Sirius was _innocent_ –

Beneath her pain and confusion and utterly helplessness Andromeda felt a wild, unexplainable pull of joy. Sirius was _innocent_. She didn't know why, or how, or when but he was – her darling, wonderful, wild little cousin was _innocent_.

And she didn't understand why that mattered so much, given that he was dead. But it did. It did matter.

Dora sniffed and wiped her face on her sheets. "I'm sorry," she said thickly, "I've made a complete and utter – bloody fool of myself."

"Oh no," whispered Andromeda, squeezing her daughter's hand with her fingers. They were talking about Dora, now. Andromeda daughter. And a man, an shadowy, clueless man, and Andromeda had to concentrate on her daughter. "No, dear. Not a fool. I do – I do understand. I know what's it's like, too. More than anyone, perhaps, I know what it's like. Your father was a Muggle-born. Filth unfit to wipe my feet, so my family said. I know all about having unsympathetic parents."

Dora laughed a shaky, coarse sounding laugh but didn't look up. "It – it isn't like that, Mum. It doesn't have much at all to do with blood. I mean, it does – a great deal. But not in the way you think."

"How, Dora?" said Andromeda, trying to keep the plea out of her voice. _Speak to me, dear. Come to Mummy. I'm here. I'm here for you. Please, tell me something. Help me understand. _

"I can't tell you," said Dora at last, after a brief moment of trembling silence. "I want to, Mum. But I – oh, blast all this secrecy! He made us promise not to tell. Dumbledore made us promise not to tell. But I don't know why. He has nothing to be _ashamed_ of –"

"Dora, you can trust me," said Andromeda, hitching her finger under Dora's chin and looking her daughter in the eye. Bloodshot, tear-filled eyes, they were and Andromeda felt a bit more of herself dissolve.

"Remus, Mum," said Dora at last, her voice a squeak, an appeal although Andromeda knew not what for. "Remus Lupin. He – he's a – a –"

"A werewolf?" said Andromeda and Dora choked. A new flood of memories came rushing back to her. Andromeda could recall it as though yesterday Sirius sitting at her kitchen table and talking about his friends, nonchalant chatter that spoke nothing of evils to come. "So it's him?"

"But what – what does it _matter_?" said Dora desperately, twisting her hands into her sheets and clutching them to her chest, as though she wished to entangle herself in them and become lost to the world.

"You love him?"

"_Yes_!" exploded from Dora's lips as though she couldn't keep them reined in for another second, "Oh, yes!"

"Does he love you?"

Dora hesitated. She lingered for a moment on the sharp edge of truth and fancy and whispered finally, "Yes."

"Then it doesn't matter," said Andromeda, conforming to cold logic more for herself then for her daughter.

"Oh, Mum," wailed Dora and started sobbing again, "I knew – I knew you wouldn't mind. I knew you'd understand. But he – he doesn't get it. He thinks – he thinks he's like dirt. He doesn't understand that he deserves it – deserves respect…."

"I know, dear," whispered Andromeda, and carefully messaged Dora's shoulders. It was a lie. Andromeda didn't know. She couldn't feel her daughter's pain. Unsolicited love was something of which she couldn't empathize. Ted – Ted had always loved _her_.

"There was a time – back in winter I thought – I thought maybe he – he _would_," said Dora, "I – but he _didn't_! He – he's been acting like a complete idiot and I – I'm so afraid!"

"Why are you afraid, love?"

Dora spoke in a kind of fevered emotion. She seemed unaware that the words were even rolling out of her lips. Tears continued to trickle down her cheeks and caught up in her throat, impeding her voice in intervals so that she was hardly comprehensible.

"Because he keeps volunteering for all these bloody missions and – and Dumbledore won't stop him and I don't know who else to turn to. He – it's like he has a death wish, and I – I can't be that bad can I?" maybe Dora was trying to contribution some sort of humor, because that was who she was. Her lip quirked weakly upward and her eyes glowed with tears.

"It's hardly because of you, I think, dear."

Dora's face clouded, "And he – he won't take care of himself and he – he's falling to pieces – and – and there's been talk of him going away and – and I don't think I can _stand it_, Mum!"

"I know – I know. Everything in your life hinges on him now. Perhaps you'd fade if he left."

"That's just it! I don't know myself anymore because – because I'm so wrapped up in _him_. If he leaves then he takes me with him and – and I won't be able to find that, wherever it is."

Andromeda stroked her daughter's hair, winding her fingers in the strands, letting Dora's voice wrap around her head. She tried to keep her thoughts on the conversation at hand. Not where they kept straying.

_Oh, Sirius_….

"Mum, how do I do it? How am I supposed to act like I don't care? He's told me to forget about him…that it isn't worth it, this hope…but _how_?"

"I don't think there's any answer," said Andromeda, "but perhaps to keep caring. If you really think he's worth it then you need to keep caring, if only for his sake. I do know something thought – if any daughter of mind thinks this man is worth her love, then he really must be quite something."

Dora smiled weakly through her tears and intercepted Andromeda's hand. She gulped back the tears stuck in her throat but apparently had run out of things to say, something that rarely happened to Dora.

It was a downright lie, what Andromeda had told her daughter. No man was worth her daughter's tears and pain. Andromeda had a right mind to hunt down this Remus Lupin a scare him up a bunch of flowers, herself, and perhaps force him into that Hospital room at the point of her wand.

"The strongest love is love that is tested," she said to her daughter's pale and withered face. It was a phrase that really didn't mean anything because it had been used so many times. Andromeda clung to Dora's cold fingers and didn't think she'd have ever had to resort to clichés where her daughter was concerned.

Dora had never been that kind of a girl, sappy and romantic and falling at every man's feet, dreaming of love.

Dora was always clear-headed, resourceful…but Andromeda supposed war changed things.

She felt the nob rise again in her throat, back from where she forced it when she had had to speak for her daughter. War changed so many things….

She remembered that he had been innocent, and tried to smile, tried to believe that that outweighed the fact that she had been _too late_ in realizing it.


End file.
